


Checks and Balances

by Miri1984



Category: The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Marvel canon, Sigyn was originally intended to marry Theoric, but Loki killed him and took his place. What if it didn't go exactly like that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Disvovery

She opened the door without thinking, tense and heaving breath, then cursed her stupidity as soon as she saw who stood there.

“Loki,” she gasped. “What..?”

He bowed, eyes twinkling, the flowers he held in one hand swooping elegantly as he did so. “M’lady Sigyn,” he said. “I could not stay away.”

“Damn, Loki, it’s the night before my _wedding…”_

He grinned. “I know. I could not pass up this… my _final_ opportunity to woo you. After tomorrow I shall have to slink way to my hole like a beaten Jotun, but tonight, Sigyn? Could you not pretend you were not taken?”

“It’s not a good time.” Loki craned his head, trying to see around her. She moved in front of him. “Loki, seriously.”

“What? Is Theoric here?” he chuckled, still trying to see around her. “I have heard on some worlds it is bad luck for the groom to see the bride the night before the wedding…”

“That’s a human thing,” Sigyn said, her lips curling in disgust. “Loki…” She should have realised earlier what had happened, it was a give away - the stillness of the doppleganger left behind. It faded into nothingness as she spun in time to see Loki standing in the middle of her hall, staring down at the body.

“Huh,” he said. “He _was_ here, then.”

There was a long silence.

“He was drunk,” Sigyn said. 

Loki gave her a look. “So you _killed_ him? I’m suddenly thankful you never returned my advances…”

She made a noise of disgust. “You know him, Loki. He’s… always drunk. Tonight was meant to be special for both of us, he was meant to…” she threw up her hands and snarled. “He came home and he…“

Loki’s jovial expression slid away and he stood still, eyes flicking between Theoric’s corpse and Sigyn. “Did he attack you?” he asked softly.

Sigyn’s jaw worked, but she nodded, once. 

Loki’s mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile. “So like a good Asgardian girl, you defended yourself.” He shrugged. “Case closed. You would not even need your own services as advocate.”

“It’s not that simple, Loki.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Theoric’s family have power. This marriage… it was always more political than… “ she sighed. “They will want me punished.”

Loki shrugged again. “You’re the lawyer, not me.”

She nodded and hugged herself, rolling her head. Theoric had fought back, of course, but he was no match for her when he was falling down drunk. Loki was very still, looking down at the body, back ramrod straight, the fine leather and metal of his princely clothes glinting in the firelight. 

“You, though,” she said slowly. “You’re a _prince.”_

His head whipped up and he caught her gaze, eyes narrowing. She thought she saw his lips twitch in the beginnings of a smile. “What are you suggesting?”

“Loki… you could say… you could claim you walked in on us? Perhaps… if you were a witness to his violence….”

But Loki was shaking his head, kneeling beside the body and running his hands over it. “No good,” he said. “Thor knows I’m here,” he smiled crookedly. “He’s the one who made me come, actually. And all know that I… courted you. If it were me who killed him his family would be doubly keen for revenge…”

“Odin…”

“Would not lift a finger in my defense if he thought me guilty,” Loki’s voice was harsh and his face closed off. She cocked her head, wondering. Loki rarely spoke with such venom. 

Finding nothing on the body to interest him, he sat back on his heels cocking his head on one side. “You fight well, Sigyn. Theoric is no slouch of a man. And his neck is _well and truly_ snapped.”

She winced, remembering the sound it had made, and looked down. She supposed she should feel remorse for what she’d done, but she could find none in her heart. Theoric had always tried to be good to her, but she was not stupid, and she had seen the signs of what he was well before this night.

Perhaps that would be enough to save her.

“Go then, Loki,” she said softly. “I shall face justice.”

He was beside her then, quickly and silently. Cold breath stirred the hair at her brow and his lips curved in a smile. “I can help you,” he said.

“You should not risk Odin’s displeasure.”

“Odin will never know,” he said, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her forehead. His fingertips touched the skin there and she resisted an urge to shiver. So cold. He had always been thus. And yet there was heat in his gaze.

“What can you hope to do?” she whispered. “He is dead, by my hand.”

The air around Loki shivered and suddenly Theoric was there before her once more. “I am dead, you say, Wife?”

She took an involuntary step backwards, shaking her head in disbelief. “Loki?”

He grinned, and even the _grin_ was Theoric’s. Only the chill of his skin and the fact that he stood, living and breathing told her that this was not the man she was supposed to marry.

“Leave the body to me,” Loki said. “And prepare for the wedding tomorrow. We shall be certain Theoric is seen to have an accident on the hunt next se’enight. The trampling of a bilgstein will cover his wounds.”

“Loki you have duties as a Prince. Odin will notice you are gone.”

“I am good at being in two places at once, Sigyn,” he said, then waved a hand. “In any case, if I storm off in a sulk over your wedding I hardly think Odin will be surprised.” The bitterness was back in his tone and she almost reached out a hand to comfort him.

Almost.

“Why do this for me?”

His formed shivered and changed back. He looked at her for a long moment, sucking at his teeth. “You doubt the sincerity of my affection for you, Sigyn? After all this time?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Yes.”

He inclined his head, eyes twinkling. “Very well then. I suppose I should have expected that.” He tapped his foot and crossed his arms. “Let’s just say I shall expect… recompense,” he stepped closer to her.  “You’re a powerful woman, you have skills far greater than you think. There may come a time when I have need of them.”

She should step back. Her mind was telling her so, but Loki’s face was inches from hers and his hand lifted once again, knuckles brushing her cheekbone. His fingers were long and pale and smooth, no callouses like Theoric had, just soft, cool skin, and his eyes were clear and wide. She could read nothing in them, though.

It was somewhat like being touched by a statue.

“If you are unwilling to accept or return my… affection, perhaps we shall keep to a more simple bargain.” He dipped his head closer to hers and she felt her chin lift involuntarily. She could smell the sweetness of his breath and she swallowed, struggling for control.  

“I just killed a man, my Prince,” she reminded him, and if her voice was breathless, well, she figured she could be forgiven.

He threw back his head and laughed. “So you did,” he said. “And I would not be so stupid to tempt you to kill another.” He shrugged, then knelt down, hefting Theoric’s body over his shoulder in one easy movement. The strength of Thor Odinsson was legendary in Asgard, yet people too easily forgot his brother had abilities of his own — some of them far more useful than mere physical strength.

Loki shifted for a moment, arranging the body so it was comfortable, and then the air around him shimmered once more. In his place stood an old man, carrying a rolled carpet. “If m’lady would be so good as to let me out the servant’s entrance, I’ll get this out of your way.”

She blinked. So easily, her problem was solved. As he walked away through the dark streets she thought she saw him look back towards her once, green eyes twinkling, and she wondered if she had done wrong trusting him. She was in debt, and she was unsure if her repayment could ever be sufficient.

She sighed and turned back inside. In her chambers, her wedding finery hung, glittering and accusatory all at once. What other choice had she?

She was an advocate, and knew the law.

He was the trickster prince, and did not need it.


	2. A Wedding

It went more smoothly than she could have imagined, and if “Theoric” was a little less drunk, a little more witty, a little more prone to dry laughter, people could excuse it as a symptom of a good marriage — his happiness in his chosen wife.

Loki’s absence was noted with disapproval from Odin, but Thor laughed and claimed his brother was broken hearted and maudlin, and his presence would only mar the happy day. He’d clapped Loki on the shoulder and hugged Sigyn cheerfully, and Loki had glanced at her and grinned.

She could not help but grin back.

At the ceremony, when the officiator had asked them to kiss, she had had a moment of hesitation and fear. “Theoric” had lifted one eyebrow — an expression she had not seen on his face before, and touched her chin gently with one long finger. A deep breath, a brush of cold lips and a gentle squeeze of her arm, and then there had been cheering and she’d been able to pull away, feigning embarrassed laughter. When she’d dared to look back up, her husband’s face was full of hearty thanks and boisterous pride.

She’d touched her own finger to her lips then, to a coldness that seemed to linger, and wondered that everyone could not recognise him.

The speeches were predictably long and boring. Loki sat next to her and laughed and toasted with the rest, occasionally leaning his head close to hers and touching her hand with his. She found herself inching her own hand, clutching its wine glass, closer to his, and tried to stop. She knew she was seeking shelter… acknowledgement… _something_ to make up for the looks she got from Theoric’s family, proud, envious, disbelieving…

None of them knew he was dead. She would have to tell them, eventually. It was all she could do not to clutch Loki’s hand and will him to be Theoric in reality as well as illusion… yet…

…she did not want Theoric back.

At one stage during the night she stumbled into an alcove, tense and tired and _wishing_ , to hear gasps coming from the shadows. Worried, she walked further into the darkness to find Theoric — _Loki,_ with his hands against the wall, head down, sweat dripping from his face.

“By the Allfather,” she swore, rushing to his side and putting her hand on his shoulder. “Loki, are you not well?”

He wrenched his shoulder away from her. “Go.” He said shortly.

“The transformation,” she said, realising. “It is taxing you. Loki, you must not hurt yourself with this! It was my crime…”

“Go. I will have this under control presently.”

“Loki!”

He spun to her, snarling, and she took an involuntary step backwards, eyes widening. It was still Theoric’s face, broad and strong and bearded, hair falling down his back in waves, but his eyes glowed _red_ and she could have sworn… _sworn_ for a moment that in his skin there was a touch of _blue…._

“Loki…”

He closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm with one hand. The strength in him was shocking. “Please,” he said. “Let me do this.”

She looked up into his eyes, and even as she did, they cleared and his skin was rugged and bearded and _Theoric_ once again. 

“It is _hurting_ you,” she said.

He let out a gasp of laughter. “No. No no no, it is merely… “ he swallowed, more colour returning to his cheeks. “Merely like a brisk walk in the sun.” He grinned lopsidedly. “A short fight with Thor —” the grin deepened “— or a long talk with my father.” 

She searched his face, and if his eyes blinked more rapidly than was strictly normal, his breath was smooth and the sweat was drying on his brow.

Without thinking she reached up to tuck a strand of the auburn hair behind his ear. His eyes widened in shock, but he did not pull away. “Do you need anything?” she asked softly. “Ask, and it is yours.”

He laughed — a short gasp of a sound. “You…” he shook his head. “You are truly worried for me,” he said, as though it were odd for a lady of Asgard to be concerned for the Prince of the Realm who had saved her from exile or prison… or — she thought of what might have happened had she _not_ killed Theoric — or _worse._

She let her hand drop and could have imagined that he leaned forward as she did so, as though her hand was somehow still connected to him. “I am,” she said. “Whatever else, Loki, whatever our debt, I…” she could not think of the proper word. “I value you,” she settled on, and winced internally. But Loki smiled, a genuine smile that tugged at her heart. 

“Well then,” he said. “We should be seen, dear wife. It would not do to be caught skulking in the corridor on our wedding night.”

She smiled and he took her arm, leading her back out into the crowd, all trace of his weariness now gone.

They danced. It was expected of them, naturally, and she had always enjoyed it. Theoric’s lack of skill had been notorious, and Loki matched it, causing laughter and catcalls from his friends and family, but she was aware, in his arms, that he did not stumble the same way, and that his incompetence never touched her the way Theoric’s had. She was never caught with him when he faltered, but smoothly moved aside. It was a dance of its own, of someone completely in control of his body, yet only she was witness to it.

At the end of the evening they stood, bidding goodbye to their guests, exchanging pleasantries, fixed smiles in place, his cool, dry hand in hers. Her feet ached and she wanted the oblivion that sleep promised. With every pleasantry, every dip of her head, every laughing kiss she bestowed on a guest’s cheek, she thought _just a little more._

When finally she was able to take her leave, only the most dedicated of revelers remained. Theoric’s friends, all, rowdy and drunk and everything her pounding head and aching feet did not need. Loki leaned close to her and kissed her cheek as she begged her leave, then stood and laughingly announced that he needed simply one more drink before he had the courage to face his wife in the bedchamber. Theoric’s friends cheered and laughed, and Sigyn thought wildly for a moment that it was lucky his mother had left earlier, before remembering Loki’s pretense, and that was a measure of how skillfully it had been accomplished, that she could for a moment forget the feeling of taking that life, and imagine there would be no consequences for it.

Back at the chambers - Theoric’s family had arranged for a lavish and secluded villa — she undressed and slipped into her night clothes, wondering if Loki would make an appearance. She had spent many nights alone since becoming Theoric’s betrothed. They had been preferable to the alternative, yet Loki was part of this, and she wished for company — company in which she would not have to _pretend —_ with a fierceness that surprised her. She sat at the dressing table and stared at her reflection, the eyes of a murderer looked back at her.

They looked the same as they always had.

She sighed and removed her jewels, pulling the pin on her hair, and letting it fall down her back, rubbing the places on her head that had born its weight for the long hours of her wedding. As her fingers worked she became aware of a presence in the room and she turned on her stool.

“I am sorry, Sigyn,” he said, and his voice was Loki’s, not Theoric’s. A small thrill chased itself down her back as she looked at him, dressed in Theoric’s finery, but unmistakably the _Loki_ — brother of Thor, son of Odin, Prince of Asgard…

… not her husband. Not even a friend. Yet they were bound together. “Sorry for what?” she said.

“I was going to sleep somewhere else… but Fandral insisted on escorting me to the bridal suite…” he shrugged and smiled. “I think he was afraid Theoric would lose his way otherwise.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time he couldn’t find his way home.”

“Perhaps it would have been healthier for him if he did that more often.” She raised an eyebrow at him and he shook his head, laughing. “Forgive me. My father keeps telling me my humour is inappropriate.”

She allowed herself a small smile. “Well then,” she said. There was a pause. “What were you planning to do? Theoric cannot be seen to leave the wedding chamber so soon after he arrived and I suspect…” she chuckled, “were you to leave in your own form there would be talk.”

He grinned. “Very _interesting_ talk.”

“Did you plan to stay then?”

He looked contemplative. The wedding outfit had included a headdress — ridiculous, as most Asgardian fashions were — although privately she admitted it was not half so onerous as the one Loki normally wore. The closed wings of an eagle graced its sides and cheek guards had hidden Theoric’s somewhat weak, bearded jaw. Loki pulled it from his head and turned it in his hands, freeing his own dark locks, mussed from being trapped under metal for so long. “Well, m’lady, that rather depends on you.”

She swallowed. “Is this where you collect on your debt?”

He shook his head and turned from her, tossing the helm on a chair and stretching his arms. “No. Our debt is precious to me. I would not squander it on something so base. Also…” he looked back over his shoulder, and smiled again. “I rather hoped I wouldn’t have to.”

Her eyes narrowed and she tried to control the urge to smile. “Loki, you courted me for months. What makes you think you have a better chance now?”

“Well for one thing there is a distinct lack of competition.” She scowled at him. He ducked his head, clutching a hand to his heart. “Ow, m’lady you wound me.”

“Be thankful I didn’t do more than that.”

Loki stood, a faint smile on his face as he looked at her. “If you wish me to leave I can,” he said, after a pause. “Theoric’s is not the only form I can take, as you well know.”

“Animals leaving the suite would cause even more talk,” she pointed out, and his eyes widened in offended shock for a second before he shook his head once more. She smiled to take the sting out of her words and crossed the distance between them, reaching out one hand but unable to quite bring herself to touch him. Her hand fell to her side and she straightened her shoulders, swallowing. “You can stay, Loki. I owe you that much, and more.” He stepped closer, dipping his head to look into her eyes and smiling. She raised one hand as though to push him back, but it hovered over his chest as though there were magic keeping them apart. He looked at it and raised an eyebrow. 

“Ah,” he said, covering her hand with his own and pulling it so it rested against him. She could feel his heart beating, skipping faster the longer her hand rested there. His long fingers curled around hers and the pad of his thumb gently brushed across her knuckles.

Her breath caught.

She should pull her hand away.

She looked up instead.

“What…?”

“I _can_ go,” he said softly. 

“You do not want to.”

He shook his head, smiling. “I do not.”

“Then don’t.”

His smile widened and he leaned further forward, gently brushing his lips against hers. She opened her mouth in a gasp which he chased, hands finding the small of her back and pulling her closer to him, flush against his body. The chill in his skin made her shiver, but even as she did he started to warm, almost as if he were pulling heat from her and storing it. 

She wondered that she had enough warmth in her to drive the chill away, but when they finally parted, her breath coming far faster and his cheeks flushed, the hands on the small of her back were as warm as her own.

One of them came up to cup her jaw and his thumb brushed her cheekbone. “You are certain about this?”

She tried for a smile. “Technically you could say we were married,” she said. His eyes glinted in the firelight and he led her towards the bed.

Afterwards he fell asleep, so suddenly and completely that she was shocked, until she remembered his struggle earlier in the evening. She was no magician — they were rare, even in Asgard — but she had never thought that magic might come with a _physical_ cost. It was obvious he was paying it now.

She watched him for a time, head resting on her elbow, the rise and fall of his pale chest, the sweat cooling on his skin, dark lashes resting on sharply defined cheekbones. He was so different to Theoric. She reached out one hand to brush hair from his face, noting that his chill was returning after their exertions, wondering if she should pull the covers up to keep him from it, or if it would go unnoticed while he was so deep in sleep.

In this moment, privately, she could admit to herself that he was dear to her, and that owing him a debt was not a weight on her heart, but rather something she would guard jealously should he attempt to collect it.

Once it was paid they would have nothing left binding them.

He shifted in his sleep and she blinked suddenly, looking at his hand, where the gold of the wedding band had caught in the light. She clenched her own fist absently, feeling the weight of the matching ring, before tucking her head under his shoulder to settle into sleep.

It was deep and dreamless.


	3. A Plan

He lived with her for ten days.

During the day as befitted a newly married noble couple, they held court for their friends and family and arranged their household. She was paid visits by Odin and Frigga and Thor as well as the minor nobility from all the houses, and they were gifted with fine silks and strong steeds and good wishes until her heart ached as much as her cheeks from smiling. 

When the guests departed Loki returned to himself and they made love to the point of exhaustion. It was surreal and bizarre to turn from closing the door on her final well wishers, to see his black hair and bright eyes in place of Theoric, surprising enough that she could mistake the rush of feeling she felt as relief at being able to drop the pretense and not something stronger, more tied to wishing she could see _his_ face and not Theoric’s whenever she glanced his way for support during the endless visitors.

“You’re enjoying this,” she accused him one night, before he fell into his customary deep slumber. He chuckled. 

“Oh, it’s been a delicious exercise in deception,” he said. “I shall never grow tired of Thor calling me Theoric and wishing me well. Or of him telling me how jealous his brother would be if he could see me now.”

“Thor loves you,” she said. “All of us can see that.”

“Oh I know,” he replied, turning to her and propping his head up on one hand. “He was ever the protective, dutiful brother to me. So very tiresome after a time.”

She herself had no siblings, part of the reason her family had been so keen on her marrying Theoric. “Do you not value it — having a brother?”

Loki frowned. “Of course,” he said, then shrugged. “But he can be painfully stupid at times. Perhaps had I a sister as well, I would not…”

“Not what?”

He shook his head and turned from her. “Nothing.” 

She wished she could take the words back because she could feel the time ticking down to when he would not be there next to her and…

“I’ve said something wrong,” she said.

She could see him shake his head, but he didn’t turn back towards her, and it took her just a moment to realise that he was asleep.

The next morning he was gone from their bed before she woke. She dressed slowly, wondering if it was the end of their uneasy alliance — it was not necessary for them to be together, he could carry out their pretense without sharing her bed. She had convinced herself that he had chosen to leave her by the time she stepped into the garden, and seeing his tall frame standing in the sunlight among the cyprus made the breath rush out of her in relief.

“You’re angry with me,” he said, without turning. She had never been able to sneak up on him, not even as children. 

“Why would I be angry with you?” she asked, stepping close behind him and reaching out to touch his back. Her hand rested there, cloth over skin and hard muscle, muscle that she knew better now than she ever had her would be husband’s…

“Because I fall short,” he said. 

She frowned, genuinely puzzled. “You do not,” she said softly. He turned and looked down at her. 

He opened his mouth as though to say more, but stopped, eyes dark for a second, before his face creased in a smile. “Well then,” he said. “I’m glad.”

“Loki…”

“The hunt is tomorrow, no? I shall need… time to prepare.”

She had not realised it was so close. “Perhaps you can claim indisposition today?” she said. “It would not be the first time Theoric has stayed abed…”

“No indeed.” He nodded firmly and patted her hand. “I shall go and organise things then. It’s lucky Thor is so predictably boring when he plans the best route for the hunt.” He flashed a grin at her. She tried to smile back, but the coil of tension in her belly made it into more of a grimace. As she watched him walk away she felt like the thin thread that bound them was becoming stretched. It was only when she remembered that she owed _him_ that she felt less frightened.

Later that day, Thor visited. 

“Your husband is unwell?” he asked as she served him fine tea. She inclined her head, noting a certain shrewd calculation in Thor’s eyes that she would not have noticed before. Loki thought him dull witted, but Sigyn revised her opinion of him in that one moment, and wondered at it.

If he knew what Theoric was there was a chance the rest of the court had also. She tucked that thought away to ponder for the future, sucking at her teeth before she sipped her tea. 

“Theoric over-indulges occasionally,” she said. _As you well know, my prince,_ she added to herself.

Thor nodded. “The Allfather requested that I come to you and offer you any help you may need.”

She narrowed her eyes. “He did, did he?”

“Your family and your skills are valuable to him. He wishes to know you have his support.”

Sigyn got to her feet in one movement. “You can let him know it’s appreciated, Thor.”

Thor stood, the forms too well drilled in him to do otherwise. “I shall, Sigyn,” he said. His long arms moved restlessly at his sides for a few seconds and she had time to think how different he was to his brother — there was wasted movement where in Loki there was none, awkwardness where in Loki there would be smooth acquiescence. “Well then. I will take my leave,” he said finally, inclining his head to her. At the door he stopped, one hand on its wood. “Oh, you _may_ be interested to know my brother has returned.”

“Loki?” Sigyn could not keep the shock out of her voice. Thor chuckled. 

“Indeed. After a few days of sulking over your marriage it seems he has come back to himself and will join the hunt tomorrow.”

She blinked. “He will be on the hunt?”

“He says he does not wish to miss it!” Thor grinned. “Loki is quite adept at the hunt, m’lady, I think you would be surprised.”

She didn’t. 

“I understand he is quite skilled with magic,” she said.

Thor shrugged. “As far as I can understand it. He also uses daggers. Quite interesting to watch, although I fail to see how he can bring down a bear with such puny weapons. In any case he wished me to inform you that he will look forward to greeting you and your new husband, and hopes there are no hard feelings on your part for his.. “ Thor chuckled, “somewhat clumsy efforts to court you before your wedding.”

“Do you love your brother, Thor?” Sigyn wanted to clap her hands over her mouth, but the words were said, and Thor, bless his noble heart, simply stood, confused.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Sigyn?”

“Never mind,” she muttered, ushering him out her door.

“What sort of a question was that?” Loki’s voice came from directly behind her and she jumped, turning, and suddenly furious.

“Loki what are you _doing?”_ she hissed. “You cannot come to the hunt tomorrow. You must pose as Theoric!”

He laughed and stepped forward, cupping her cheek in one hand and dipping his head down to kiss her. His open affection was enough to disarm her for a second and she let herself melt into his arms, the feel of him around her comfortable and so right for a few moments, before she realised the urgency of their situation and pushed him back. “Loki! I… This is too hard for me, please…”

His face fell and he stepped back. “You need to trust me Sigyn,” he said. “I will be at the hunt tomorrow. So will Theoric.”

“Loki for all your boasting I _know_ it is not possible to be in more than one place…”

He let his fingers brush along her cheek again, tipping his head on one side. “Sigyn. My magic is unknown across the nine realms. Believe me when I say I will not betray your trust, nor give you reason to worry. I have more skills than simple shapeshifting. All will be well.”

“I want it over,” she said suddenly and forcefully. “I cannot live like this, Loki… I feel as if… every second… every person that looks at me… that they will know.”

He took her upper arms and shook her gently until she looked up at him. There was a fierce smile on his face and she was afraid of him, then, in a way she had not been before, in a way that reminded her, unpleasantly, of Theoric.

“They will _not_ know, Sigyn,” he said, and one hand lifted to smooth over her hair. “You are magnificent in your lies, skillful and beautiful, and you will never have to pay the price for doing what was _right._ I promise you that.”

She pulled herself out of his grasp. “And what happens after tomorrow, Loki? Do you go back to your princely ways and leave me to be a widow, mourning a man I never loved and never even _married_ while you… wait to collect on a debt I can never hope to properly repay…” His eyebrows pulled together in genuine hurt, for just a second, before she felt the tear fall from her eye and splash on the back of her hand.

“Sigyn…” he said. “I… “ he reached out with one hand and caught another tear that she could not have stopped had she tried. He shook his head. “What do you want of me?”

She slumped. “I do not know,” she said. He looked genuinely confused and the feeling was entirely mutual.  

He sighed. “Prepare yourself for the hunt. Theoric will join you in the morning and I will see you after that. I promise, Sigyn, all will be well.” He turned to go. She caught his arm and he looked back, still frowning.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “and… I trust you.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Thank you,” he said simply, then was gone. 


	4. A Hunt

Sigyn had never been much for the hunt, but as the first organised outing as a married couple, she _had_ been prepared for it. Odin and Frigga were to come, and Thor, and the warriors three — the whole court of Asgard, it seemed. Theoric had looked upon it as an opportunity to prove his worthiness, or some such trite idiocy. She’d looked upon it as something necessary and unpleasant, and would be glad when it was over, now more than ever. 

She had come to the stables early, as arranged, and found Theoric in his hunting gear already, seated atop his stallion Hrugar, silent and imposing. She was afraid to touch him, wondering if he was another of Loki’s illusions. She wasn’t certain how she’d known, absolutely, that it was not Loki in the saddle, but she felt decidedly uneasy in his presence. Her mare skittered and shied away from him, and they rode to the woods on the outskirts of the city in strained silence.

As the others of the hunt gathered, it was clear that Odin was losing patience. Thor spoke to him several times, ever the mediator between his father and his brother, and Sigyn’s teeth ground at each other in her jaw. Theoric sat wooden and unresponsive on his horse and she was desperate for the hunt to begin, desperate for people’s eyes to be taken from him.

“We will wait for Loki no longer,” Odin announced finally. 

“Father…” Thor held up one hand but the Allfather snarled at him.

“No. I have had enough of his sulking and his antics. The hunt begins.”

When Loki emerged from between the trees, Sigyn had to stop herself from gasping out loud in relief. The Loki that stood before Odin, however, gently cupping Sleipnir’s soft nose in his hands, was an entirely different creature from the man who had been sharing her bed and her crime for the past ten nights. He had a cocky slant to his head and an evil glint in his eyes.

“You are done with your sulk then, Loki?” Odin asked, earning a glare from Frigga. Loki ducked his head in a show of contriteness that would not have fooled a human. 

“You have my apologies, father,” he said. 

“It is not to me you should apologise,” Odin said. “Present yourself to the lady and her groom for insulting them on their wedding day.”

Loki glared at his father and stalked towards Sigyn. She clenched her reins until her knuckles were white with strain. 

“You have my apologies, Theoric,” Loki said, voice silken and genuine. Theoric waved a hand dismissively and Loki moved to her horse. Out of sight of the others, he reached up a hand and took hers, and for once his skin throbbed with warmth.

“What magic is this?” she hissed at him.

“Do not fear,” Loki said. He made a show of adjusting her rein, smiling contritely and speaking under his breath as he did so. “Theoric will fall to a bear shortly into the hunt. You must ride well separate from him if you can. I would not see you harmed.”

“Loki what _is_ he?”

“He is Theoric,” Loki said, shrugging.

Her eyes widened and she clutched at the pommel of her saddle in sudden fear. “Loki am I riding next to a _corpse?”_

Loki grinned and nodded. She shuddered. “What?” he said. “Did you expect me to conjure a body for his family to mourn out of thin air?”

“I don’t know _what_ I thought,” she said.

“Unless you wish me to condense two hundred years of magic knowledge into one short apology, I had best go,” Loki said, eyes still twinkling with mischief. “Try to look haughty and offended. I am _quite_ certain I just said something inappropriate to you.” She glared at him. “That’s the trick, love,” he said, winking and slinking back towards where Thor had his horse, rearranging his carefully contrite expression as he did so.

The hunt began.

She had become so used to considering Theoric as Loki that when the bear charged his horse the high scream that left her mouth was completely involuntary. She leapt from her own steed, advancing on the animal that was busy worrying at her husband’s throat before she remembered that she was essentially, putting herself in danger to save a corpse.

“Sigyn _no!”_ Loki’s voice - his true voice was desperate with terror and she stopped, face to face with the bear as it raised a bloody head and roared at her. She clutched for her bow, knowing it was too late and that the bear was too close, and had time to think this was a fitting end, since she had killed Theoric. Why not go down with him? 

There was a battle roar, however, and the Lady Sif who had been riding closest to them, landed on the beasts’ back, using her spear to skewer it through the head in one easy blow. She landed beautifully in front of Sigyn, who’s hands were shaking, still trying to notch an arrow that was now completely useless.

A cold hand came down on her arm and she felt Loki’s presence next to her. “You don’t need it,” he said softly. She looked up into his white face, mouth opening to say something, anything, but he snarled at her. “You should have been further _away,”_ before spinning on his heel and racing back towards the chaos the bear had left.

In the meantime, Sif had knelt beside Theoric’s body and was examining it, even as the other hunters gathered around the bear to be certain it was dead. “I am sorry Lady Sigyn,” Sif said, looking up with wide, dark eyes. “Your husband is dead.” His horse too, was lying with an unnatural angle to his neck, and she found it within herself to let out a sob for the animal, and for the danger she had been in. She did not know how, but she was on the ground, retching, her bow abandoned and there was a voice in her ear.

“Lady? Lady Sigyn?” strong, warm hands were helping her to her feet, the voice was Thor’s soft and urgent, and somehow they were being led back to the villa and Odin was expressing his sorrow and person after person pressed in upon her to give their condolences and…

…she could not see Loki _anywhere._

She had to stop herself from descending into hysterical laughter as she heard each expression of sympathy for a man who had been dead half a month. But the face she looked to see did not appear and eventually she told the servants to admit no more. If this was to be it, if the only time she would see him now was to be when he collected his debt, she wished to begin the process of mourning now when it could be suitably covered by the pretense of mourning the husband she never wanted.

She sat in front of the fire well into the early hours of the morning, a glass of untouched wine by her hand, reluctant to move to her empty bed, not willing to admit that she was afraid to sleep alone for the first time since she was a small child. 

When she felt a hand on her shoulder she was uncertain whether she was awake or dreaming, but she would take the dream if that was all that was offered, and she looked up into Loki’s face calmly. He didn’t speak, just turned her towards him, gently taking the glass and setting it down on the table and pulling her to her feet. She rested her head in the crook of his neck and breathed in his scent as his hands moved on her back. There was an urgency in his touch that had been lacking before now and she found herself being backed towards the bedchamber. She went willingly, sinking herself into his familiarity and losing herself in pleasure.

“My father is sending me away,” he said into the darkness when they had finished. For once he had not fallen asleep — obviously animating a corpse and charming a bear was less taxing than a full day of shapeshifting. 

Or perhaps he felt this was important enough to stave off slumber. “Oh?” she said.

“It seems my rudeness to you and Theoric was the last straw. My brother has been pushing to go to Nornheim and deal with the rebels there and Odin…” he chuckled. “Odin has decided it would be good for my _character_ were I to accompany him.”

She took a deep breath, hating what she was about to say. “It will probably be for the best,” she said. His arm tightened around her.

“I shall miss this,” he said then, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Twas a _grand_ scheme. One of my best.” 

If his words wounded her, they were still expected, and she knew better than to point them out. Instead she allowed herself a small smile. “I am pleased you garnered _some_ enjoyment from it, Prince Loki.”

He chuckled and looked down at her, tracing one finger along her jaw. “The price may be a _little_ high however. Two years traipsing through Nornheim with my brother in the filth does _not_ appeal. If you could avoid killing any more potential suitors I would be grateful, otherwise I might have to become a _soldier._ ”

She swallowed. “Two years?” she said.

He nodded.

Her jaw worked for a moment. “You will have much time to contemplate how I can best repay you, then,” she said.

He shifted on the bed so he was looking up at her, head propped on his elbow, and reached one hand to caress her bare shoulder. “I will,” he said. He seemed fascinated by the movements of his hand for a time as his fingers made small circles on her skin. Eventually he leaned forward and let his lips brush the hollow of her neck, after a few gentle kisses he murmured against her skin, “Tell me, do you regret your promise?”

“No,” she said, aware that her breath had been coming more quickly since he began his touches, and not especially caring.

He held up his other hand, and she saw the band of gold that she had picked out for Theoric still graced his finger. “I retrieved this from Theoric’s corpse,” he said. “I shall wear it in memory of our bargain. And of you.”

She reached out her own hand and touched the band, then pulled his towards her, gently drawing the tips of his fingers into her mouth. He chuckled, and that led to other things, and they did not speak again. 

He was gone before she woke the next morning, and word came from Odin the following day that his sons had departed for Nornheim. She accepted the news from Frigga, dressed as a grieving widow, wearing black and fingering the wedding band on her finger.


	5. An Ending

The flash of the Bifrost and the imposing glare of Heimdall at its end did little to quench his exuberance. The time away had changed him, he was surprised to note, he felt more capable, he had used his magic _in battle_ and had earned the respect of his peers and even _Thor_ had acknowledged that he had been useful to them. They rode the rainbow bridge in high spirits, the splendor of Asgard laid out in front of them, brothers and friends and _victors._

Thor clapped him on his shoulder as he was returned to his chambers, nodding and smiling in farewell and Loki grinned as he divested himself of his gear. Some was the worse for wear, mud still stained his hands and his boots and he sank into a bath with a sigh of gratitude, washing the dust and grime of battle from him. As he worked, the light glinted off the wedding band he still wore on his left hand, and he smiled to himself, thinking of a way to pass the rest of the hours until morning.

He dressed quickly and left the palace, using stealth to cross the city to the Lady Sigyn’s villa. Breaking in was as easy as it had always been and he chuckled to himself. It was not as though she was incapable of defending herself should she be attacked, of that he was _very_ certain, but she really should take a few more precautions. The servants were long abed and only a few lamps remained, but he knew his way well enough to need no extra light and he slipped into the bedchamber silently.

At the foot of her bed, however, he paused.

Three tousled dark heads lay there, not one as he was expecting. Sigyn lay with one slender arm flung over the body of a sleeping child, flat on his back with his arms above his head. Another, identical to the first, was curled in a ball against her back, obviously seeking the warmth of his mother in rest as the covers had been flung to the side. 

Loki swallowed, leaning on both hands against the footboard of the massive bed, unable to move. He tilted his head to one side, searching for something in the face of the boy on his back. They could be Theoric’s. Sigyn was dark haired, just as he was. There was no reason to think they were his children. No reason for anyone else to think that, considering their liaison was something known only to the two of them…

The second child stirred and sat up, rubbing a chubby hand across his face and murmuring. Loki could not move, transfixed as the boy looked at him, calmly, wide green eyes unblinking and familiar in the moonlight.

The spell came to his lips without thought and the boy fell back into slumber. With luck he would not speak of this to his mother when he woke, would think it a dream. After a moment, he murmured a second spell, moving to the other side of the bed and touching Sigyn’s sleeping face, gently tracing a second finger over the curve of the other boy’s cheek. He raised the covers so all three would stay warm in the cool night air.

They would sleep long this night, and peacefully. He could give them that much.

He slipped out the way he had come, returning to his own bed. 

Sleep did not come to _him._


End file.
